'uarter  01  a  v^eniury 


ears  an 


•',  :'        -.-    - 


OMPSON 


' 


CAUF.  UBRAKY.  LOS  ANGELEg 


A  Quarter  of  a  Century 


Years  and  Poems 


JOHN  G.  THOMPSON 

Principal  of  tke  Fitchburg,  Massachusetts 
State  Normal   School 


1895-1920 


3.1U. 


COPYRIGHT  1920  BY 
JOHN  G.  THOMPSON 

This  edition  is  limited  to  one 
thousand  copies,  numbered  and 
signed  by  the  author. 

This  copy  is  number 


12.3 

O.K..  ~ 


INTRODUCTION 

ON  July  1,  1895,  the  Fitchburg,  (Mass.) 
State  Normal  School  came  into  exist- 
ence.    For   twenty-five  years   it   has   been 
directed  by  the  author  of  the  twenty-five 
poems  included  in  this  little  volume. 

The  poems  were  written,  at  widely  sep- 
arated intervals  scattered  over  the  twenty- 
five  years,  to  put  into  concise  and  more  or 
less  enduring  form  some  thoughts  on  educa- 
tion and  life  as  taught  by  the  principal  to 
his  classes.  They  are  published  at  the 
request  of  many  who,  as  students,  were 
interested  in  them  and  who  desire  to  possess 
them  in  book  form. 

JOHN  G.  THOMPSON 

Fitchburg,  Mass., 
July  I,  1920. 


21332O2 


A  QUARTER  OF  A  CENTURY 


PACE 


1.  In  Memoriam — Margaret  V.  Thompson          5 

2.  Get  into  the  Game         ....        6 

3.  The  Quest 7 

4.  Love   .......        8 

5.  Loving          ......        8 

6.  To  a  Child 9 

7.  The  Offal  Cart 10 

8.  My  Sir  Galahad n 

9.  Horizons       ......       13 

10.  Riches  ......       14 

11.  The  Real  and  the  Ideal  ...      15 

12.  The  Symphony     .....       17 

13.  The  Interpreter 17 

14.  Vision  ......       18 

15.  Wisdom        .          .          .          .          .          .19 

16.  The  Ego 20 

17.  What  Am  I? 21 

18.  The  Prisoner 22 

19.  Man's  Ways          .....      23 

20.  Life  More  Abundantly  .          .          -25 

21.  Jeanne  d'Arc         .....      26 

22.  Recompense  .          .          .          .          .27 

23.  The  Days  of  my  Years  .          .          .28 

24.  Shine  On  .          .          .          .          -3° 

25.  Carry  On 31 


c\j)  p  r?^    / 

XJK^V-1  iWxrwA^u* 


1. 

ORALIE 

In  Memoriam — Margaret  V.  Thompson,  Class  of  1898 

In  a  forest  beside  the  sea, 

A  sorrowful  knight  doth  dwell 

Alone  with  bird  and  flower  and  tree; 

They  mourn  with  him — they  loved  her  well. 

Across  the  path  of  that  sea, 
A  ship  and  but  one  may  fare, 
The  ship  that  carries  sweet  Oralie, 
That  bore  her  away  from  there. 

Away  o'er  the  gray,  gray  sea 
She  sailed  from  his  love  and  pain; 
And  he  dreams  that  sweet  Oralie 
Some  day  will  sail  back  again. 

The  birds  from  the  marshes  call, 
"Oralie,  Oralie,  'alie," 
And  a  thrush  from  the  trees  lets  fall 
A  tenderly  sweet  "Oralie." 

The  flowers  send  their  perfumes  sweet 
On  the  winds  ever  crossing  the  sea; 
The  flowers  and  the  winds  both  entreat 
"Come  back  to  your  knight,  Oralie!" 

But  she  will  never  return, 
Will  never  sail  over  the  sea; 
Imprisoned  his  soul  must  yearn 
For  the  loved  and  lost  Oralie. 


2. 
GET  INTO  THE  GAME 

There  is  nothing  to  do  today! 
Only  to  eat  and  to  sleep, 
Only  to  work  and  to  keep 
The  faith  with  the  Master — 
And  this  is  nothing  but  play. 

There  is  nothing  to  do  today! 
Only  to  live  and  to  learn, 
Only  to  strive  and  to  yearn 
For  the  praise  of  the  Master — 
And  this  is  nothing  but  play. 

There  is  nothing  to  do  today! 
Only  to  stand  and  to  serve, 
Only  to  get  and  deserve 
The  love  of  the  Master — 
And  this  is  nothing  but  play. 

There  is  nothing  to  do  today! 
Only  to  die  and  to  rest, 
Only  to  know  this  is  best — 
The  way  of  the  Master — 
And  this  is  nothing  but  play. 

There  is  nothing  but  play  today! 
Today  is  all  our  life; 
Its  pain,  its  joy,  and  its  strife. 
We  play  for  the  Master, — 
Get  into  the  game  and  play! 


3- 
THE  QUEST 

A  knight  fared  on  through  a  beautiful  world 
On  a  mission  to  him  unknown; 

At  his  left  and  a  little  behind,  there  rode 
The  self  of  his  deeds  alone. 

At  his  right  and  a  length  before  sped  on, 
Him,  none  but  the  knight  might  see, 

A  braver  heart  and  a  purer  soul, 
The  self  that  he  longed  to  be. 

And  ever  the  three  rode  on  through  the  world 

With  him  at  the  left  behind; 
Till  never  the  knight  would  look  at  him, 

Feeble  and  foul  and  blind. 

Desperately  on  they  drave,  these  three, 

With  him  at  the  right  before, 
While  the  knight  rode  furiously  after  him 

And  thought  of  the  world  no  more. 

Forever  on,  he  must  ride  on  his  quest 
And  peace  can  be  his  no  more, 

Till  the  one  at  his  left  he  has  dropped  from  sight 
And  o'ertaken  the  one  before. 

Thus  ages  ago  the  three  fared  on, 

And  on  they  fare  today, 
With  him  at  the  left  a  little  behind, 

The  right  still  leading  the  way. 


4- 
LOVE 

Dante  loved  his  Beatrice, 
And  because  he  loved  her  so 
Made  for  men  the  Paradiso, 
Inferno,  Purgatorio. 

Christ  so  loved  a  world  of  sinners 
That  he  came  to  earth  to  die, 
Through  his  suffering  atoning 
For  all  men  both  low  and  high. 

Love  is  always  inspiration, 
Will  to  do — to  die — to  live — 
And  calls  forth  from  every  nature 
The  richest  offering  it  can  give. 


5- 
LOVING 

Loving  is  giving; — 

Giving  the  hand  and  the  brain  and  the  heart, 
Giving  in  labor,  in  science,  in  art, 
Giving  to  all  and  giving  to  one 

Whatever  is  done. 

/ 

Loving  is  living; — 

Living  in  thought  and  in  word  and  in  deed, 
Living  in  power  and  in  wealth  or  in  need, 
Living  for  one  and  living  for  all, 
Where  Duty  may  call. 

Loving  is  giving  and  loving  is  living, — 
Giving  our  best  and  living  our  best, 
Giving  to  others  and  living  for  others, 
And  leaving  to  God  the  rest. 


6. 
TO  A  CHILD 

I  love  the  sweetness  of  the  flower, 
The  brightness  of  the  star, 
The  mystery  of  twilight  hour, 
The  hills  dark  blue  and  far. 

The  sweetness  feeds  my  hungry  heart, 
The  brightness  stirs  my  soul, 
The  mystery's  my  magic  art, 
The  hills  my  longed-for  goal. 

I  find  them  all  and  more  in  you — 

A  goal  beyond  the  hills, 

The  sweetness,  brightness, — mystery,  too, 

Of  stars  and  daffodils. 


7. 
THE  OFFAL  CART 

He  drove  an  offal-cart 
Offensive  to  both  smell  and  sight; 
But  on  his  coat  above  his  heart, 
There  lay  a  rose  of  spotless  white. 

My  eye  hung  to  the  rose — 
Forgot  offending  sight  and  smell — 
As  must  have  clung  the  eyes  of  those 
Who  dared  to  look  on  Christ  in  Hell. 

I  felt  in  every  heart, 
However  black  with  guilt  and  sin, 
There  blooms  a  rose,  unseen,  apart, 
Of  spotless  purity  within. 

The  eye  may  learn  to  see 

In  human  hearts  the  fair  white  rose; 

And  so  see  not  impurity 

Where  also  fragrant  beauty  blows. 


8. 
MY  SIR  GALAHAD 

My  knight  is  no  aristocrat, 

He  knows  no  class  nor  creed. 

A  man  may  have  a  fortune 

Or  a  man  may  be  in  need, — 

But  if  he  loves  his  fellows 

And  tries  to  do  his  best, 

My  knight  will  give  him  welcome, 

For  he  has  met  the  test. 

Such  men  are  glad  when  Fortune  brings, 

To  help  them  play  their  part, 

Good  fellowship  in  simple  things 

That  cheer  the  human  heart. 

My  knight  is  not  a  high-brow, 

And  Browning  rarely  reads; 

He  has  no  row  with  culture, 

But  he  believes  in  deeds. 

So  when  a  fellow's  down  and  out, 

He  helps  him  to  his  feet, 

And  cheers  his  wife  and  children 

With  clothes  and  bread  and  meat, — 

For  his  religion  brings 

To  every  man  a  welcome  part 

In  the  kindly,  helpful  things 

That  touch  the  human  heart. 

My  knight's  a  regular  human 
With  hands  and  heart  and  head. 
He  never  knows  he's  beaten 
And  never  believes  he's  dead. 
But  he  marks  another's  failure 
In  the  fight  with  life  or  death, 


ii 


And  he  stands  within  the  shadow 

With  a  catch  in  voice  and  breath, 

Trusting  his  presence  brings, 

With  his  halting,  homely  art, 

Some  hope  to  those  who  face  the  things 

That  break  the  human  heart. 

The  world  is  not  a  Paradise, 

For  men  are  savage  still;  f 

'Tis  not  good  cheer  and  charity, 

But  outrage,  rob,  and  kill; 

And  never  did  this  bloody  sphere 

Need  men  so  much  before 

Who  learn  to  love  their  fellow-men 

Not  less  each  year,  but  more; 

Who  strive  in  simple,  manly  ways, 

By  each  one  doing  his  part, 

To  make  the  world  more  worthy  Him 

Who  made  the  human  heart. 


9. 
HORIZONS 

THE  CHILD 

I  wonder  who  lives  where  the  sky  comes  down, 
Where  the  sky  comes  down  to  the  ground; 
I  wonder  if  night  ever  comes  to  them  there, 
Are  days  ever  dark  or  foggy  the  air, 
Or  does  the  sun  always  shine, 
And  the  traveling  stars  come  so  near 
That  a  child  with  a  wagon  like  mine 
Might  hitch  it  to  one  without  fear. 

THE  MAN 

I  wonder  who  lives  where  Heaven  comes  down, 
If  Heaven  comes  down  upon  earth; 
I  wonder  if  trials  ever  come  to  them  there, 
Or  are  ways  always  clear  and  deeds  ever  fair; 
And  does  light  always  shine, 
And  the  right  and  the  good  stand  so  clear 
That  a  heart  with  a  yearning  like  mine 
Would  love  them  at  once  without  fear. 


10. 
RICHES 

No  man  is  richer  than  I! 
The  brook,  the  mountain,  the  star, 
The  sea,  the  earth,  and  the  sky, 
My  dependencies  are. 

No  man  is  richer  than  I! 
Egyptian  and  Jew  and  Chinee, 
Greek,  Roman,  and  Romany  Rye 
Pay  tribute  to  me. 

No  man  is  richer  than  I! 
Beethoven's  rythmical  beat, 
Phidias'  hand  and  Raphael's  eye 
Lay  gifts  at  my  feet. 

No  man  is  richer  than  I! 
For  nature,  man,  and  his  art 
Are  mine,  and  satisfy 
My  mind  and  my  heart. 


II. 

THE  REAL  AND  THE  IDEAL 

SHAKESPEARE 

The  fitful  life  of  man  as  he  struts  and  frets 

Among  his  petty  fellows,  lord  today  of  earth 

And  sea,  tomorrow  lower  than  the  beasts, 

Naked,  raving,  shelterless;  his  dreams 

Of  glory,  lust  for  power,  greed  of  gold; 

His  pride,  ambitions,  wars;  his  hopes  and  fears; 

His  loves,  and  hates;  his  laughter  and  his  mourning; 

His  acts  that  make  or  mar,  that  never  die 

But  moved  and  moving  under  moral  law 

Return  at  length  to  comfort  or  to  curse, — 

This  is  our  English  Shakespeare's  self-set  theme, 

Sublime,  and  wrought  in  power  and  beauty  such 

That  Hamlet,  Rosalind,  and  Imogen, 

Ophelia,  Shylock,  Falstaff,  and  Macbeth, 

Creations  of  the  god-like  poet's  brain, 

Shall  always  in  the  minds  and  hearts  of  men, 

As  truly  laugh  and  dream,  and  strive  and  hate, 

As  truly  live  and  love  as  they  that  breathe. 

THE  BIBLE 

The  pregnant  meaning  of  the  life  of  man, 

Less  guided  than  the  beast,  needing  all, 

Fearing  all,  yet  hoping  all;   the  strength 

Of  weakness  and  the  power  of  purity; 

The  feebleness  of  force;   the  foolishness 

Of  lust  and  greed  and  pride  and  love  of  self; 

The  dream  which  raises  man  above  his  fears 

And  hopes,  as  he  staggers  on  with  feet 

Of  clay  through  his  brief  span  of  years,  and  ever 


Feebly  gropes  toward  Heaven — the  dream 

Of  immortality;   Omnipotence, 

Infinity,  firing  the  frail  and  finite 

So  that  he  dares  to  look  beyond  the  stars — 

The  breath  of  God  within  the  crumbling  clay; 

Such  is  the  Hebrew  race's  burning  theme, 

So  wrought  through  twenty  centuries  of  thought 

And  suffering,  that  no  human  cry  remains 

Unanswered,  no  heart  hunger  unappeased. 


16 


12. 
THE  SYMPHONY 

All  is  rhythm  and  vibration, 
From  the  cold  and  lifeless  clod 
To  the  highest  revelation 
Of  the  handiwork  of  God. 

All  is  music,  then,  creating 
Mind  and  matter,  life  and  death, 
Soul  and  body,  loving,  hating, 
Smiling  eye,  and  failing  breath. 

You  a  tone  and  I  another, 
All  about  us  myriads  are, 
On  this  globe  and  every  other, 
To  the  last  most  distant  star. 

When  in  the  symphony's  completeness 
Every  tone  is  harmonized, 
Some  in  discords,  some  in  sweetness, 
The  Master's  will  is  realized. 


13. 
THE  INTERPRETER 

The  mountain  and  the  valley  and  the  stream 
Are  beautiful  beyond  the  artist's  dream; 
But  it  is  night  without  a  single  star, 
And  no  eye  can  see  or  know  how  fair  they  are. 

So  years  of  work,  of  joy  and  pain  and  strife 
May  be  as  beautiful  as  dreams  of  future  life; 
But  unless  love  shines  above  them  like  a  star, 
The  soul  can  never  know  how  fair  they  are. 


14. 
VISION 

In  darkness  I  climbed  the  side  of  the  mountains, 
O'er  a  path  that  left  me  weary  and  sore, 
Though  often  I  stopped  to  drink  from  the  fountains 
That  had  given  strength  to  toilers  before. 

As  nearer  and  nearer  the  summit  I  faltered, 

In  the  darkness,  light  seemed  to  daSvn  and  to  grow; 

My   pathway   grew   straight — the   mountain    seemed 

altered, 
And  I  left  all  the  sadness  and  struggle  below. 

And  when,  at  the  end,  I  stood  on  the  summit 
And  could  gaze  on  the  region  until  then  unseen, 
I  rejoiced  in  the  climb  from  the  base  to  the  summit, 
And  understood  the  sorrow  and  toiling  between. 


18 


15. 
WISDOM 

She  is  the  gleam  of  the  laughing  brook, 
A  nymph,  through  the  tremulous  trees, 
Luring  one  to  an  enchanted  nook, 
To  her  and  her  mysteries. 

She  is  the  peace  of  the  silent  pool, 
Holding  the  earth  and  sky, — 
Hid  in  her  heart,  so  placid  and  cool, 
Life  and  its  secrets  lie. 

She  is  the  force  of  the  waterfall, 
Rushing  to  find  its  place, 
Impatiently  pounding  th'  unyielding  wall, 
Its  limits  in  time  and  space. 

Would  I  were  the  ocean  to  whom  she  turns 
And  into  whose  arms  she  creeps, 
The  immortal  lover  for  whom  she  yearns 
Till  in  his  bosom  she  sleeps. 


16. 
THE  EGO 

What  am  I  ? 

I  am  the  sum  of  all  my  experiences: 

All  that  I  have  felt, 

All  that  I  have  known, 

All  that  I  have  willed  and  done, — 

That  and  more  am  I. 

I  have  touched  the  world  of  matter 

And  have  found  it  cold,  remorseless,  and  exacting. 

I  would  reject  it  and  forget  it, 

But  alas  I  cannot — 

It  presses  me  on  every  side, 

And  through  it  alone  can  I  make  known 

That  I  am  I. 

I  have  touched  the  realm  of  life 

And  have  found  it  sacrificing,  selfish,  cruel,  and  kind. 

I  would  hate  it,  I  would  love  it, 

Yet  I  must  be  of  it, 

For  from  it  and  it  alone 

Can  I  gather  more  abundantly 

The  life  that  is  my  own. 


17. 
WHAT  AM  I? 

I  am  more  than  the  sum  of  all  my  experiences, 
As  my  nerve  and  muscle  and  brain 
Are  more  than  the  air  and  the  food  and  the  drink 
That  sustain  me. 

I  am  more  than  a  part  of  all  my  progenitors, 
As  my  glance  and  my  smile  and  my  speech 
Are  more  than  my  eye  and  my  lips  and  my  tongue 
That  express  them. 

Grown  am  I  from  the  soil  of  all  my  inheritance, 
As  the  upas,  the  thistle,  and  rose, 
Each  grows  from  a  soil  that  is  different,  yet  fit 
To  produce  it. 

Like  a  seed  expanding,  struggling,  developing, 
As  the  wind  and  the  rain  and  the  heat 
Help  determine  its  growth,  so  has  experience 
Influenced  mine. 

I  am  more  than  the  seed,  the  soil,  and  the  climate, 
As  my  brain  and  my  heart  and  my  soul 
Unceasingly  think,  feel,  and  then  know, 
For  I  use  them. 

I  use  life  and  its  joys,  its  labors  and  sorrows, 
All  that  it  gave  me  at  birth  and  in  growth, 
As  the  inevitable  words  of  a  story  or  song, 
The  spirit  is  I. 


21 


18. 
THE  PRISONER 

My  soul  looks  out  through  prison  bars, 
Inquiring  and  alone, 
Upon  the  world,  the  sun,  the  stars, 
So  strange  and  so  unknown. 

My  soul  looks  out  through  prison  bars 
At  other  prisoners  here, 
From  haughty  kings  and  hordes  of  Mars, 
To  peasants  dumb  with  fear. 

My  soul  looks  out  through  prison  bars 
And  sees  Infinity 

In  earth  and  men  and  speaking  stars, 
In  everything  I  see. 

Now  I  would  break  my  -prison  walls! 
But  no,  it  may  not  be — 
Through  prisoning  flesh  my  spirit  calls, 
So  must  THOU  answer  me. 


22 


19. 
MAN'S  WAYS 

All  man's  ways  are  seven, 
And  seven  were  they  then, 
When  God's  gift  from  heaven 
Came  down  on  earth  to  men. 

The  ass  for  foolishness 
Gazed  with  vacant  stare 
At  Mary's  fond  caress 
Of  the  babe  a-lying  there. 

For  wisdom  came  the  three, 
Of  all  the  world  the  wise, 
Who  in  worship  bent  the  knee 
And  saw  the  cross  arise. 

For  poverty — the  stable, 
The  manger,  and  the  hay, 
Where  amid  the  Babel 
Of  the  feast  the  Saviour  lay. 

The  gifts  and  frankincense 
Were  wealth  in  that  far  day, 
For  blessed  innocence 
That  in  the  manger  lay. 

The  ox  for  labor  stood, 
Armed  with  useless  horns, 
And  saw  the  pure  and  good 
Crowned  with  cruel  thorns. 

Aspiration  was  the  star, 
Of  all  stars  in  the  sky, 
That  led  men  from  afar 
To  Him  who  came  to  die. 


23 


And  love  the  highest  good, 
And  source  of  all  the  rest, 
Was  holy  motherhood 
And  babe  at  mother's  breast. 


All  man's  ways  are  seven, 
And  seven  God  symboled  them, 
When  Christ  came  down  from  heaven, 
A  babe  at  Bethlehem. 


24 


20. 
LIFE  MORE  ABUNDANTLY 

Life  is  for  joy,  I  thought — 

And  for  joy  I  sought. 

I  roamed  the  world  and  fed  on  beauty; 

I  feasted,  gamed,  and  danced;  I  knew  no  other  duty; 

My  cup  was  filled  with  joy,  and  filled  to  overflowing, — 

And  yet  when  I  had  tasted  it,  and  tasted  once  again, 

I  knew  that  not  for  this  alone  was  life  breathed  into  men. 

Life  is  for  love,  I  said — 

And  with  love  I  wed. 

Then  life  seemed  new  and  well  worth  living, 

In  love  and  joy  my  days  passed  on  without  misgiving; 

My  heart,  my  life  were  filled  with  love, — with  love 

unbounded, — 

And  yet  as  time  fled  on,  a  yearning  grew  within  my  soul 
For  something  more — and  then  I  knew  that  love  was 

not  the  whole. 

Life  is  for  work,  I  cried — 

And  at  work  I  tried. 

I  added  to  man's  wealth  by  labor, 

And  in  the  struggling  army  fought  beside  my  neighbor; 

My  hours  were  crov/ned  with  deep  content  and  peace 
abiding, — 

But  yet  my  work  brought  me  but  little  joy  for  some- 
thing done, 

And  in  my  heart  I  knew  the  best  of  life  was  not  thus  won. 

Life  is  for  growth  in  life — 
For  growth  I  made  my  strife; 
I  felt,  I  thought,  I  acted,  trying 
To  realize  the  Possible  within  me  lying, — 
And  once  again  I  met  with  joy  and  love  and  labor, 
For  as  I  worked,  I  loved  my  work  as  it  my  Self  expressed; 
And  in  my  joy  I  learned  at  last  why  man  with  life  is 
blessed. 
25 


21. 
JEANNE  D'ARC 

The  body  of  man  is  wakened  to  the  way 

Of  that  which  we  in  ignorance  call  life; 

Through  the  impenetrable  dark, 

God  reaches  forth  His  hand  to  the  inert  clay 

And  to  it  springs  the  spark; 

And  man  is  formed  and  quickened; 

And  loves  and  thinks  and  dreams. 

The  spark  is  flashed  by  God  from  on  high, 
A  stab  of  the  force  which  moves  all  things; 
Then,  through  his  loves  and  dreams,  man  grows 
A  soul  within  himself  that  shall  not  die 
When  to  follow  his  chosen  best, 
His  life  is  gladly  given 
And  smiling,  he  goes  West. 

But  when  the  dream  of  dreams  is  drowned  in  tears, 

When  that  which  made  the  human  life 

Seem  God-like  and  immortal, 

Proves  a  mirage  and  disappears 

As  man  draws  near  the  portal, 

The  soul  itself  is  offered  then, 

A  sacrifice  supreme. 

For  me  all  dreams  are  one — and  the  dream  is  this: 

Of  a  trail  that  leads  through  eternity, 

And  that  some  day  I'll  be  going 

Down  that  trail  of  work  and  love  in  bliss; 

When  the  last  sad  hour  is  done, 

Shall  I  go  West  to  follow  the  dream? 

Or  shall  I  have  lost  it  and  have  made 

The  sacrifice  supreme? 


26 


22. 
RECOMPENSE 

The  day's  work  is  done 
And  what  is  the  pay? 
At  setting  of  sun 
Are  you  glad  of  the  day? 
Fair  deeds  done  for  love 
Shine  at  close  of  the  day 
As  stars  shine  above — 
This  is  my  pay. 

The  life's  work  is  done, 
Its  smiles  and  its  tears; 
At  set  of  life's  sun 
Are  you  paid  for  the  years  ? 
The  things  I  have  done, 
Those  tried  for  in  vain, 
The  love  I  have  won, — 
This  is  my  gain. 


27 


23. 
THE  DAYS  OF  MY  YEARS 

The  days  of  my  years  are  those 

When  conquering  difficulties,  drudgery,  and  laziness, 

I  soar  on  pinions  to  the  skies; 

When  the  mighty  spirit  in  me,  the  God, 

Will  exercise  his  function, 

And  dreaming,  daring,  designing, 

Molds  the  clay  of  a  new  being, 

Touched  with  beauty  and  forever  animate. 

The  days  of  my  life  are  those 

When,  disdaining  finite  bonds  and  limitations, 

The  life-giving  power  of  the  Maker  is  mine — /  create. 

The  days  of  my  years  are  those 

When  forgetting  unkindness,  ingratitude,  and  hatred, 

I  fly  untrammeled  to  the  stars; 

When  the  Christ,  the  serving  soul  within  me, 

Fires  the  brain,  the  glance,  and  the  heart-beat, 

And  pitying,  helping,  guiding, 

Sees  the  gold  in  the  dross  of  my  fellows, 

In  those  below  me  as  in  those  above; 

The  days  of  my  life  are  those 

When  subduing  envies,  greeds,  ambitions, 

With  the  humble  heart  of  the  Master,  I  serve — and  I  love. 

The  days  of  my  years  are  those 

When  the  wondering  clod  sees  with  more  than  sight, 

And  the  skies  and  the  stars  are  here; 


28 


When  the  mind,  the  haughty  Master  of  Me, 
Neglects  to  drive  his  servant, 
And  through  the  semi-conscious  darkness, 
Comes  the  flash  that  shows  the  meaning 
Of  all  in  Heaven  above  and  earth  below. 

The  days  of  my  life  are  those 

When  losing  myself — my  body  and  mind — 

The  Infinite  Spirit  touches  my  soul — and  I  know. 

The  days  of  my  years  are  three  score  years  and  ten, 
And  if  by  reason  of  strength  they  be  four  score  years, 
Yet  is  their  strength — not  labor  and  sorrow, 
But  the  rapturous  joy  of  the  Maker  at  work, 
The  content  the  way  of  the  Master  can  give, 
The  interpreting  touch  of  the  Infinite  Spirit — 
The  dreams  I  create,  the  service  I  love, 
The  truth  that  I  know — the  days  that  I  live. 


29 


24. 
SHINE  ON! 

A  feeble  candle  in  great  darkness  shining 

For  a  brief  hour  and  throwing  its  little  light 

Fitfully  along  the  way — such  is  man. 

A  mighty  orb  resplendent,  brightly  gleaming, 

Banishing  the  darkness  and  forever 

Lighting  all  the  way — such  is  God. 

Doubt  not!     The  flickering  light  of  little  candle 

And  the  transcendent  gleam  of  mighty  orb 

Are  one — in  nature  and  in  kind  alike. 


25. 
CARRY  ON! 

Let  the  mind  be  like  a  river 
Flowing  strong  and  sweet; 
Not  like  a  muddy  puddle 
In  a  dirty  street — 

Think  noble  thoughts! 

Let  the  heart  be  like  the  heavens 
Where  the  travelers  fly; 
Not  like  the  sunless  cellars 
That  never  see  the  sky — 
.  Dream  lofty  dreams! 

Let  the  will  be  like  the  flower 
That  slowly  breaks  the  stone; 
Not  like  the  clinging  creepers 
Powerless  to  stand  alone — 
Do  worthy  deeds! 

For  life  is  like  an  open  highway 
A  challenge  in  its  call, 
Not  like  a  back-yard  alley 
Ending  in  a  wall — 
CARRY  ON! 


